“Hush, Becky,” she said; and at the touch of her hand and the sound of her voice, Becky looked confusedly at her and let her upraised hand sink back to the bed.  The widow stared swiftly from Jim’s brother, at one window, to Dave Day at the other, and hid her face on her arms.

“Remember, Becky—­how can you expect forgiveness in another world, unless you forgive in this?”

The woman’s brow knitted and she lay quiet.  Like the widow who held her hand, the dying woman believed, with never the shadow of a doubt, that somewhere above the stars, a living God reigned in a heaven of never-ending happiness; that somewhere beneath the earth a personal devil gloated over souls in eternal torture; that whether she went above, or below, hung solely on her last hour of contrition; and that in heaven or hell she would know those whom she might meet as surely as she had known them on earth.  By and by her face softened and she drew a long breath.

“Jim was a good man,” she said.  And then after a moment: 

“An’ I was a good woman”—­she turned her eyes towards the girl—­“until Jim married her.  I didn’t keer after that.”  Then she got calm, and while she spoke to the widow, she looked at the girl.

“Will you git up in church an’ say before everybody that you knew I was good when you said I was bad—­that you lied about me?”

“Yes—­yes.”  Still Becky looked at the girl, who stooped again.

“She will, Becky, I know she will.  Won’t you forgive her and leave peace behind you?  Dave and Jim’s brother are here—­make them shake hands.  Won’t you—­won’t you?” she asked, turning from one to the other.

Both men were silent.

“Won’t you?” she repeated, looking at Jim’s brother.

“I’ve got nothin’ agin Dave.  I always thought that she”—­he did not call his brother’s wife by name—­“caused all this trouble.  I’ve nothin’ agin Dave.”

The girl turned.  “Won’t you, Dave?”

“I’m waitin’ to hear whut Becky says.”

Becky was listening, though her eyes were closed.  Her brows knitted painfully.  It was a hard compromise that she was asked to make i between mortal hate and a love that was more than mortal, but the Plea that has stood between them for nearly twenty centuries prevailed, and the girl knew that the end of the feud was nigh.

Becky nodded.

“Yes, I fergive her, an’ I want ’em to shake hands.”

But not once did she turn her eyes to the woman whom she forgave, and the hand that the widow held gave back no answering pressure.  The faces at the windows disappeared, and she motioned for the girl to take her weeping enemy away.

She did not open her eyes when the girl came back, but her lips moved and the girl bent above her.

“I know whar Jim is.”

From somewhere outside came Dave’s cough, and the dying woman turned her head as though she were reminded of something she had quite forgotten.  Then, straightway, she forgot again.